


Hide and seek

by badreputation



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: An overuse of the word fuck and its variations as per usual, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Atsumu tries to bury his feelings and doesn't succeed, Explicit Language, Latex glove kink? More likely than you think, M/M, Overstimulation, Sakusa is confused but just as constipated at dealing with his feelings, Side Sunaosa, are we surprised? not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:00:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23177344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badreputation/pseuds/badreputation
Summary: It’s just a fleeting infatuation. As long as he pushes through it he’ll manage. So what if nowadays there isn’t a night where he doesn’t dream of Sakusa pinning him down on his own bed, in the shower or make Atsumu go down on his knees in the hallway? Those are just pesky details.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 37
Kudos: 1431





	Hide and seek

**Author's Note:**

> Uh, I can blame/thank Ginny for pushing me in the Sakuatsu pit. I didn't think it'll make me create this fic, but as we can all see it did escalade that quickly. 
> 
> Jokes aside, I hope you enjoy. And I'm sorry for any mistakes! I proof read it a few times, but it's like two a.m. here and my sleeping habits are whack.

It starts with Sakusa standing a smidge too close than the usual distance he keeps between himself and others, just to intimidate Atsumu into shutting up. Not that it works, Atsumu isn’t going to relent against something as feeble as a glare.

But then Sakusa narrows his eyes, tilts his head to look down at him and that’s all his brain needs to conjure a mildly put lewd scenario. Even Sakusa is confused at his obedience, which Atsumu quickly manages to hide a moment later. Nonetheless, Sakusa’s attention is on him the majority of the event.

And so the games begin.

*****

They win the match, not without a lot of sweat and spite, but it’s their triumph. The interview is usually something Atsumu isn’t particularly fond of because it makes him swallow down all fatigue forcibly, despite how much he wants to plaster himself to the bathroom tiles.

His body won’t stop feeling uncomfortable. It’s either his shoulders, his legs or his head voicing out a relentless protest. It’s an ache that a hot shower will wash away, if only he could actually _get_ a hot shower in the next half an hour.

Sakusa isn’t faring any better if his glowering is any indication. Nobody makes to ask him a question, not even the few brave souls who usually dare to step closer.

Atsumu throws his head back, stares at the ceiling while Bokuto enthusiastically answers as many questions as he can. Their managers are gonna chew Atsumu and Sakusa out, but hey, at least this time they’re not insulting anybody on live TV. Like the joke Atsumu had let slip a month ago, one he knew Suna would actually laugh at instead of getting pissed at. Seemed that the media didn’t harbour the same feelings and the fact that the Black Jackals had beat Suna’s team a day prior had poured more oil into the scalding flames.

He had to make a written twitter apology while at Osamu’s, with Suna cackling on the floor beside him like a thing possessed. Osamu had followed soon after once he’d come back from the kitchen and found out why Atsumu was cursing to the high heavens. It got to the point where they had started wheezing with no sound coming out. Suna had answered the tweet with a picture of a Tibetan fox staring into the camera like it wanted to crawl into a hole.

They still haven’t let him live it down.

So now Atsumu is allowed to only show his face and keep his pretty mouth shut, as one of their managers had bit out.

Suddenly, he registers a sharp movement in his peripheral vision before a broad palm slams onto his shoulder, which results in him having to sit down on one of the chairs they had ignored, to avoid falling on his ass.

Sakusa removes his palm from him swiftly, as if he hadn’t touched him in the first place.

Only there is a bright red sting on his deltoid muscle. It morphs into a chill that makes his vision swim for a second and takes him by surprise when a strong shiver follows straight after the heat.

Sakusa’s fiery eyes meet his and for a fraction of a second Atsumu wonders if he felt it too. He looks away too soon, after a camera flashes their way. Atsumu is left staring at him for who knows how long.

It’s no surprise they wake up to gifs of them floating about the internet. The thing is, Atsumu himself can’t deny there’s nothing innocent or even friendly, if you will, in that exchange. You can’t mistake it for anything but tension between them.

After all the heart eyes edits he’s scrolled past and all the memes Suna sent him at the crack of dawn he can’t unsee it. That bastard has a finger in this, he can feel it in his soul. He probably started the whole thing and even orchestrated it, like the spaghetti meme half a year ago or the tennis ball meme two months before that.

At any given circumstance Atsumu would be pissed at how his reputation is being dragged through the mud, but.

He feels a linger of that palm on his shoulder, swears the flesh still stings, even when he looks at it in the mirror and sees no mark left behind.

*****

Their manager tells them to keep doing that.

Atsumu chokes on his protein bar. Shouyou has to thump his back a few times lest he suffocates for real. Although that is extremely appealing in the current situation.

“Excuse me, what the f--”

“Not happening.”

Atsumu and Sakusa speak simultaneously, scoff at each other before turning their heads the other way.

Nami-chan shakes her head, “You’ve got no choice. The fans loved it. We need some good popularity after the stunt with Suna Rintarou.”

“I told ya a thousand times,” Atsumu stands with one hand on his hip, the other waving about. ”that piece of shit was laughin’ next to me while I wrote the apology tweet. He wasn’t even pissed to begin with. It’s not _my_ fault the media decided to brew up some bull that we’re mortal enemies.” he wiggles his fingers at the end with a grimace.

Nami-chan slaps his hand away so viciously he yelps.

Her glossy lips pull into a saccharine smile as her head tilts to one side. “ Accept it. Live with it. _You_ chose his career.” then she whacks him with her clipboard and leaves.

Atsumu turns slightly to glance at Sakusa who is already boring holes into the side of his face. He’s got no supernatural powers or anythin’, but he’s entirely sure they have the same thought coursing through their heads:

_So, now what?_

*****

His little problem alters to a gigantic one when he’s at a club that has too much neon lights for anybody to recognize him with the half mask and body paint.

The beat is a slowed version of a new popular song he’s heard on the radio, the bass maxed up to make everybody feel like the entire building is vibrating. There’s a stranger behind him, with his arms around Atsumu’s middle. Today he’s not in a giving mood. He came here to get fucked and fucked he will be judging by the guy that moves with him and actually knows how to touch him.

His head however, fills in the gaps with details he knows shouldn’t be there. He inhales the nonexistent scent of a faint cologne that he only catches a whiff of in the locker room. The palms that grip his thighs are rough from numerous spikes. The face behind the tiger mask has two moles at one eyebrow. The eyes are a tempest, simultaneously his salvation and damnation.

When the guy fucks him in a bathroom stall he can barely keep that name from his mouth. Despite the fact that even if _he_ would agree to fuck him, it would never be in a fucking bathroom stall, much less in one that is public.

His mind whispers sweet nothings, wraps him in a spell by filling his senses with a scent that’s not actually present, until he’s choking on it and his mouth forms _his_ name when he comes.

*****

He’s shameless enough to have no problem looking at Sakusa the next day.

His body on the other hand.

The following weeks are a torment, especially during interviews.

It’s just a fleeting infatuation. As long as he pushes through it he’ll manage. So what if nowadays there isn’t a night where he doesn’t dream of Sakusa pinning him down on his own bed, in the shower or make Atsumu go down on his knees in the hallway? Those are just pesky details.

Or, they would have been had Atsumu not been also pesterd into sharing a hotel room with Sakusa. He was supposed to be with Shouyou, but he and Bokuto get drunk at the celebration after their match, so their teammates drag them in one room, to make keeping an eye on them an easier task.

Sakusa just snarls as per usual, when he has no other option. He claims the shower first. Atsumu walks about the room to keep himself awake. The alcohol makes him sleepy. Only half a short twist glass of whiskey with mostly ice in it, but still enough to make sure he’ll fall asleep in seconds.

He doesn’t hear the shower stop, nor the opening of the bathroom door, so he jumps when a wet towel smacks him in the side of the head before Sakusa uses it to make him sit down at his own bed with a shove.

He’s tired more than prissy when he says, “Stop. Just looking at you makes me nauseous.”

It takes Atsumu a lot more than usual to comprehend just how quiet he is. A flicker of, dare he say, concern flashes in Sakusa’s eyes, like the headlights of a car reflecting on the glass of a shop. Atsumu lowers his head, lest he gives away something he doesn’t want to. Lest his own body betrays him in this fragile state between drowsiness and lack of control.

He stands up, moves past Sakusa in a blatant way that makes sure they don’t touch. It might be overboard, sure, but it’s a boundary he needs to establish himself, to not entertain any mumbling thoughts that can ruin his entire career.

He takes a long shower, leaves only when he almost cracks his head open at the edge of the sink. He does manage to bang his side. It’s not gonna be a pretty bruise. He dries his hair and brushes his teeth before finally wandering out.

Sakusa’s head turns his way. He’s scrolling through his phone while looking at some news on the TV. Atsumu doesn’t acknowledge him, drags himself to take the last few steps to his bed, then reaches for the light at his nightstand to switch it off and turns his back to Sakusa.

The volume of the TV drops until it’s only a mere murmur that his mind completely dissolves and his world steadily grows dark.

~

Atsumu wakes up with a startle, can barely manage to suck air into his lungs. His body is on fire, his blood melted caramel, skin having erupted in goosebumps all over.

“Miya?”

Another shock wave quickly passes over him from head to toe.

Atsumu sits up in the bed. His breaths comes out harsh, as if he’s played three sets with no breaks in-between.

Sakusa must have reached over to put on the lamp at his bedside table because the room is bathed in partial light.

He can see his hands gripping his bed sheet to the point where his knuckles are as white as snow. The veins stand out so much his arms almost looks alien.

“Miya?”

Atsumu flinches before going stiff, then bends forward. He thinks better of it, shoots himself out of the bed and locks himself in the bathroom before Sakusa can say anything else.

He sinks down to the tiles floor, presses his head into the door.

Shit just spiralled out of control.

Having sex dreams regarding his teammate? Fine.

Having dreams that he’s-- that he’s _making love_ with his teammate? Fuck no.

Worst of all is he can still feel its remnants - the elation, the comfortable warmth, how they all get stirred the moment the corners of Sakusa’s eyes crinkle and a dimple at his cheek winks at him. He can still feel Sakusa moving inside of him, submerging Atsumu into a new galaxy of sensuality that holds the same atmosphere as a first time. He can still feel Sakusa push himself to balance on one hand, thus ending up deeper than before, to tug the black latex glove off with his teeth. He can still feel the bare, hesitant fingers travel up Atsumu’s abdomen and throat, to his mouth, until the index finger slips past his lips--

He’s never experienced that mind-boggling feeling during sex.

It’s so overwhelming, grips him tight by the throat, makes him grow more and more baffled as the seconds tick by.

He’d called him Kiyoomi in his dream.

And Sakusa had called him Atsumu.

Now he knows how his given name sounds uttered by that voice.

Fuckity fuck.

*****

Atsumu draws a clear line between them after that. He’s not more of an asshole towards Sakusa, but he doesn’t engage him in a conversation he knows will be one-sided either way, doesn’t screw around with him, stops calling him Omi-kun and all its variations.

Now it’s strictly Sakusa.

The entire team picks up on it quickly, the coaches and managers not far behind. But seeing as his head is in the game and that he’s treating Sakusa the same way he always has on the field they keep their mouths shut. Atsumu swallows down his own shit for the sake of the team’s popularity when it comes to conferences and interviews, keeps up the tirade to satisfy the fans.

He needs to destroy this _thing_ from the root, starve it until it shivels away. He’s pictured holding it in his hands, crushing it, twisting it, trying to dismember it in a desperate attempt to regain his sanity.

All to no avail.

So he’ll starve it more. He’ll do everything in his power do obliterate it.

*****

Their teammates set them up to be in the same hotel room again, mention something about ‘stopping all this fighting and moping’ and lock the door.

Atsumu doesn’t rise to the bait. Sakusa is a methodical person - Atsumu knows he won’t say or do anything either. The glances are a bit concerning. However, they’ve never been friends. They’re just aquiances, just teammates that have to tolerate each other to do the thing they love and keep their job. Simple as that.

He waits for Sakusa to take his shower, listens to some music while he’s at it, then showers and once again puts his headphones on to watch Youtube videos.

They haven’t exchanged a word come morning.

It happens only after their asshole teammates unlock the door.

“Miya,” Sakusa starts, a few steps behind him with his travelling bag on one shoulder. His mask is still bunched up around his throat.

Atsumu smiles, the ugly thing he gives to people who piss him off. “We’ll be late.” he says, and only when Sakusa’s face closes off does he notice that there was something else on the surface.

Sakusa pulls his mask up as Atsumu opens the door.

*****

Their teammates do it again.

Then they do it again.

And again.

Until Atsumu gets used to it and isn’t even phased anymore. He accepts it as exposure therapy.

*****

He’s playing against Suna’s team for the first time in a while. Aran comes to watch, along with Osamu, Kita-san, Akagi-senpai, Oomimi-senpai and Gin. It’s kinda nostalgic, still, makes him mushier than he likes to admit.

He’s in a good mood throughout the entire game, even when they lose fair and square. He pulls Suna into a hard embrace when they have to exchange handshakes under the net. It results in a small back slap-fight and by the end of it they’re both groaning with tears forming in their eyes from the stinging pain. Nonetheless, they grin at each other, ignore the incredulous looks of their teammates and as soon as the niceties are over with they head towards the rest of their former high school team.

Atsumu loses track of time. They go to an _izakaya_ (he doesn’t envy the owners that had to deal with them until two a.m).

It’s the happiest he’s been in a long time, as if his soul fills to the brim with good emotions that leave him less bothered by the world.

Then the stunt him and Suna pulled the day prior is the new twitter meme. Now everybody is convinced they’re a thing. They’re at Osamu’s at the time, for a hangover-curing breakfast. Just him, his brother and Suna, the rest had to go home. That’s why when Suna serves them the news amidst another bout of hysterical laughter Osamu responds by whacking Atsumu over the back of his head with a slipper. Multiple times. In a row.

It gets worse when he goes to practise the next day and suddenly his entire team is in on the conspiracy theory.

Atsumu puts an end to it with a screech mid afternoon, a week later. “Why would I be datin’ my brother’s fuckin’ boyfriend _,_ ** _ya lunatics!_** ”

Due to the deafening silence that follows, his words echo in the locker room. He slowly turns to face everybody, with a towel held tightly in his hand.

He smiles, all teeth, a shark that is about to bite. Bokuto and Shouyou twitch away at the same time.

“If I hear this gets out to the media I will personally destroy you. Am I clear?”

They all nod at him. Well, he doesn’t spare Sakusa a glance but if he hasn’t said a word it’s fine.

Osamu is going to lynch him for outing him and Suna.

*****

Finally, the probing stops.

But then, one by fucking one:

“Hey, Atsumu, uh, sorry about that with your twin. It’s totally cool they wanna keep it under the wraps--”

“We didn’t wanna be assholes about it--”

“It was a shit move and--”

“Hope they can keep their privacy, if you know what I mean, the media is full of vultures nowadays--”

“Atsumu-san, I’m really sorry about all that, I didn’t think that--” Atsumu puts his hand up to stop Shouyou.

“It’s _fine_. Can ya please just stop. I think everybody had their turn and my head is goin’ to blow up if I hear another apology.” he leans forward until his elbows press to his knees, runs his hands through his wet hair.

This is Shouyou, a literal ball of sunshine and Atsumu knows he’ll feel shitty for acting like a dick towards him, but the looming curly haired menace at the corner of the locker room has been intently staring holes into his back for the past ten minutes.

He’s at wits end here. Not only all that, the media has chosen to keep up with the tirade to an extent that even Suna, the shameless little shit, isn’t comfortable with anymore.

Atsumu packs his shit at lightning speed and doesn’t give Sakusa a chance to corner him for whatever reason Atsumu’s pissed him off, despite them having not communicated outside the games.

*****

The following turn of events shocks Atsumu to such a degree that he can’t even react.

“I would very much appreciate it if you stop putting my boyfriend with another.”

Atsumu’s head snaps up in Sakusa’s direction, where he’s standing tall next to Atsumu’s chair with his arms crossed. The cacochany is immediate. The clicking and the flashes from the cameras increase tenfold, the paparazzi scream one over another.

Sakusa pulls him to his feet, his _bare_ hand tight where his fingers have curled just over Atsumu’s elbow. Atsumu can do nothing but follow after him as his body makes him suffer a tantalizing shiver that almost makes him gasp.

All his hard work crumbles at his feet at a mere touch.

Once they’re out of sight in the make up room he yanks his arm away.

“What the _fuck_ was that?”

The make up artists quickly flee the scene. Now they’re all alone for the first time in a month.

Sakusa only shrugs. “You don’t care. But your brother does.”

That’s the shittiest explanation he’s ever heard in his life. What, Sakusa is trying to play knight in shining armor and now managed to ruin both their careers? The world isn’t very kind to people who are outside what is considered normal.

Now his parents will know. Their coaches will know. Everybody will know.

Even if it’s something made up nobody will give a fuck because the media won’t let them ever forget this stunt. If one day, as unlikely as it is, Atsumu marries a girl those vultures will dig through the sand to find the buried bones to taunt him and his family.

How fucking _dare_ he--

Atsumu lunges at Sakusa, having thrown any given shits about his personal boundaries out the metaphorical window, and shoves him. Sakusa hisses as his head collides with the wall but even more so when Atsumu denies him his precious bubble and presses close, his fingers fisted into Sakusa’s jersey, knuckles pressing against his breast bone through the material.

He realizes he’s shaking, with rage, with fear, with dread.

Before his vision blurs by what he’ll realise a minute later are tears, he has a full view of Sakusa’s face contort degree by degree into an expression he’s never once seen on him - bitter regret.

Atsumu steps back on unsteady legs, storms away, deaf to everything from the buzz in his ears and the way the world tips. By some miracle he manages to get home without anybody stopping him on the way.

~

He barely sleeps that night. He’s turned his phone off, pulled the blinds and barricaded himself in his room. He only took a shower and changed his sheets, to try and ease his mental state with freshness, but that only makes his head do a 180 and think of the person he doesn’t want to know exists.

Somebody knocks on his door and rings his bell on several occasions. Atsumu doesn’t answer. He just turns on his side, pushes his second pillow over his ear and stares blankly at his night stand.

His brain is simultaneously void and overcrowded with thoughts. He’s numb to all emotions, as if he’s a bystander that has no relation to the unfolding fiasco. He tries to imagine all the nasty scenarios so that when they happen they won’t hit him between the ribs with that sharp of a blade.

What if his last match really was his last match?

He squeezes his eyes tightly, presses his lips together to fight against the tremble in his chin.

Atsumu is well aware it’s not the end of the world. But it could be the end of one of his worlds. If the press is bad his team won’t have a choice but to let him go and the possibility of another team risking with him after that will be slim to none.

Shit, he needs to clear his head.

He gets off the bed and onto the floor. It takes him a minute to gather himself. He gets on his knees, falls into form only on his hands and toes and presses forward until his chest and nose brush the ground. Then he pushes back up.

He continues with the push ups until his arms can’t hold him up.

Next, he stands on his feet and makes himself do as many squats and lunges as he can before his legs also burn to the point of tremors.

Then he does the same with planks.

And keeps alternating until he falls asleep on the floor.

~

He’s rudely awoken by nonstop knocking. Usually if he ignores it, it’ll go away but not this time, no. This fucker also presses his bell and doesn’t move their finger away. While continuing with the knocking.

Atsumu yanks the door open after a headache forms merely two minutes into the orchestra of hell.

Sakusa pulls his gloved finger away from the bell. Atsumu slams the door in his face. The ringing starts anew.

He wrenches it open again. “Just how further do you want to _fuck my life up,_ _huh_?”

There is a deja vu that makes him recall the locker room incident when his scream echoes in the stairwell.

Sakusa brushes past him as he lowers his face mask, takes his shoes off at the _genkan_ and continues down the hallway as if he owns the place. Atsumu has to take more than a few deep breaths to stop himself from yanking that son of a bitch out of his apartment by his fucking hair, then throw him down the stairs.

When he enters the kitchen, he’s greeted by the scent of green tea and, “Did you see the news? Or any social media?”

“Why the fuck would I wanna to know just how many people want me off the team?” Atsumu mumbles as he sits at the table and presses his palms against his face.

He’s too tired to be angry for more than a few minutes at a time. And he’s cold. There’s lead in his abdomen, makes him unable to eat anything. The smell of the green tea comes closer until he hears the click of ceramic on wood when Sakusa sets it in front of him, followed by the creak of the second chair that is directly opposite of Atsumu.

There’s a lull before he catches the sound of something sleek sliding against the table.

Atsumu pushes what he’s certain is a phone away from him with his elbow. Sakusa pushes it back. This goes on a few more times, then Sakusa pulls one of his arms, his leather glove creaking when it wraps around his skin, and Atsumu almost smacks his face into the edge of the table.

He’s just about to spit venom at him when Sakusa shoves the phone in his face and--

It’s a collage of news articles that some fan account on twitter posted three hours ago with the caption “FUCKING SLAY THEM SAKUATSU!!!!!”.

_“Pro players Miya Atsumu and Sakusa Kiyoomi backed by fans and fellow colleagues on romantic development”_

_“The dawn of a new era? What many fans now call the ‘SakuAtsu effect’ might change the sports industry”_

_“World in shock and joy as Black Jackals’ Miya and Sakusa finally out their relationship”_

_“Ojiro Aran makes a comment on the ‘SakuAtsu’ development: ‘If anybody dares say something nasty about them they’ll have to go through a lot of people, ‘s all I’m sayin’.’”_

_“Black Jackals’ forbidden love: real or a fluke? No matter the details, this could be a breakthrough for the LGBTQ+ community in Japan”_

The titles are too many for him to go through and Sakusa pulls his phone away before he can continue. He scrolls through something before he reads out,

“The coaches just made a statement twenty minutes ago. They’re glad our fans are doing everything in their power to support us. A lot of gratitude to all of the fellow players who stood up for us, many thanks to--”

“What?”

Sakusa glances at him for a long second, then lowers his gaze and continues.

“Many thanks to everybody who sees this development as an inspiration and hope instead of treat it with unfounded hate.”

For the second time in the last 14 hours Atsumu’s brain freezes all thought process.

“Our popularity rose with 125% overnight. A fuck ton of host shows want an interview and more merch has been sold for the past 10 hours than for the past three weeks.”

Atsumu makes a shaky cutting motion with his hand, “Can you please just fuckin’--”

Sakusa stops and locks his phone, leaves it on the table to have a sip from his tea.

Atsumu stares at the phone, then gets up to wash his face and brush his teeth. When he comes back Sakusa hasn’t moved. The fatigue of Atsumu’s body is quite easily detectable now that the slight boost of adrenaline has worn off.

He slumps on his chair, cradles his tea close.

“I’m sorry.”

Atsumu startles. He was expecting Sakusa to keep quiet as usual, until Atsumu filled the silence.

“I didn’t think you’ll react that way.” this time it’s Sakusa who lifts his hand to keep him quiet. “You’ve always been unaffected by any rumors or sandals or whatever. But we could all see you were worried for your brother and Suna-san. The managers were trying to think of a way to divert this and I just acted on my own because that asshole at the front row pissed me off.”

He’s only seen Sakusa talk this long with his old teammate, Komori-kun, or Ushikawa-kun. Atsumu shakes his head in an attempt to restart his brain.

“So you did somethin’ that might’ve ruined both our lives and careers for the shits and giggles?”

Sakusa doesn’t deem him with an answer.

Did he seriously have to fall in love with _this_ asshole?

Sakusa chokes on his tea, moves to cover his mouth with his gloved hand, stops in the very last moment.

His eyes are wide, disbelieving to such a degree it makes him look younger by a couple of years.

“What?”

“You just… ”

“Yea?”

“Did you just confess? To me.” Sakusa breaks down the sentence in two with his incredulity.

Atsumu really doesn’t like how blank his mind gets around this guy, honestly. Well, he has a few choices, but the one his drowsy mind picks is none other than than the instigation tactic.

“What of it?” he ticks a brow upwards as he takes a sip of the scalding tea.

“You don’t like me. You _hate_ me.”

“I don’t think I said that, no.”

Sakusa does a weird but endearing head tilt with his eyes narrowed until Atsumu can barely see their color. Sakusa lifts a hand, his fingers twitching oddly like those cats that are oh so tempted to push a glass to the floor, before he lowers it once more.

“You’ve been pretending I don’t exist outside of practise and matches for four months. You don’t speak to me unless it involves strategies. And now you’re telling me you’re… in love with me.”

His confusion is so genuine and child-like, unlike his usual snippy demeanor that always got on Atsumu’s nerves in the beginning, the same way Tobio-kun’s behavior pissed him off years ago. It makes him look human, vulnerable, and he’s choosing to let Atsumu witness this instead of having an inner conflict that won’t show on the polished surface.

Atsumu takes another mouthful of tea, leans back in his chair and tilts his head back to accommodate his droopy eyes.

It’ll take Sakusa a little bit more to put two and two together. Atsumu is too drained to do anything but breathe, sit and drink his damn tea. Although his arms are protesting the last part, his muscles having grown weak with the overexertion last night in the ultimate combination of overtraining and little to no sleep.

But seeing as he just wants this over with he doesn’t give Sakusa the chance to come to the conclusion by himself.

“This was precisely why I didn’t wanna say shit. We’re on the same team and see each other six times a week when we’re in season. It’s unprofessional and I prefer keepin’ my job. Plus I kinda like the team, so.” he lifts one shoulder in a half shrug.

Sakusa looks at him intently, as if trying to gauge whether Atsumu is fucking with him or not.

“And now, the entire world thinks we’re datin’. Thanks. Literally the last thing I needed on my plate. Not only that, we gotta keep a pretense because the coaches stood up for us. The fans too. Hell, half the industry did. If we don’t play our part it’s gonna become a bigger clusterfuck.”

Atsumu drinks the rest of his tea like he would a shot, bares his teeth for a few seconds until the burn in his esophagus subsides. Speaking of, he should have some whiskey left from Osamu. He’s gonna need it.

“Listen,” Atsumu starts as he gets up and leaves his mug by the sink. He opens the cupboard over it to dig out the half-full whiskey bottle. “We’re gonna keep on actin’ the same way as before, until a few months pass and we can do a tragic break up on national TV or in a _konbini_ , whatever, take your pick.”

Atsumu fills a third of his mug with whiskey and drinks the majority of it one go.

“We’ll, I don’t know, keep the fans happy and make our popularity rise a lil’ more.” he shrugs while looking down at the remnants of the whiskey intently before drinking that too. “Then it’ll be same old, same old.”

Sakusa keeps quiet during the entire ordeal, Atsumu can’t even hear him breathing. He can pretend he’s talking to a hallucination that come the following day won’t know the little secret he’s been trying to smother for the past half a year.

“Now that we’ve established all this whackery, can you please just leave so I can snooze for a bit?”

He realizes too late that he’s on the brink of his collapse. The alcohol is a warm presence in his stomach that spreads to the rest of his abdomen in a languid pace. Instead of dealing with his problem he heads to his room.

At the doorframe of the kitchen he lifts his hand in a mock wave. “Bye-bye, Sakusa-kun. I think you know the way out.”

Atsumu hears a belated “wait”. He closes the door to his bedroom either way, throws himself on his bed. He’ll just wait to hear the front door closing and go lock it.

That, however, doesn’t happen. He catches the sound of the tap running a few times, then the whirr of the coffee machine, the fridge opening and closing, the fucking ding of his trash can but not the click of his front door.

That bastard and his audacity.

Atsumu slaps his hands on his face, drags them down in what Osamu loves to call his ghoul impersonation.

The knock on his door almost makes him fall off the bed. Sakusa doesn’t wait for an answer and straight up opens the door with his elbow, two steaming mugs in both his hands.

Atsumu grabs his pillow and lets out a feral scream into it before trying to smother himself with it.

“What the fuck is wrong with ya, ya asshole?” he screeches out the moment he removes the pillow after it does nothing but make him dizzy.

Sakusa pulls the chair from its place at the desk with his foot until it’s relatively close to Atsumu’s bed and hands him one of the mugs. Atsumu begrudgingly takes it, only because he’s the caffeine addict that doesn’t say no to the only thing in his life that won’t ever let him down.

“How come you haven’t whipped out the spray bottle of water and alcohol and started spraying that shit all over?” he bites out just to make himself feel better.

Atsumu sits up, presses his back to the headboard and takes a sip of the coffee - it’s the perfect balance of coffee and a little milk to dull the bitter edge a smidge. Sakusa is observing him from the chair. He too appears as tired as Atsumu feels, the dark circles under his eyes are maybe more prominent than usual, but that might just be Atsumu’s incoherent brain overanalyzing.

Because the person he’s been having sex dreams about -- let’s call them that, he wants to keep the last meager percent of his dignity -- is in his bedroom, way too close to his bed for comfort.

“What do you want?” Atsumu ultimately gives, with his knees brought to his chest.

Sakusa heaves out a quiet sigh, a hint of his agitation. “I don’t know.” he whispers, as if an admission of a crime he’s hid out of sight.

Had Atsumu been even partially intelligible he would have made a snide, venomous remark that would topple Sakusa down, if for a moment.

“You don’t know how you feel about the situation or in general? ‘Cuz there’s a veeeery big difference here. Which, as I said, was precisely why I didn’t want this topic to see daylight. And don’t say _I_ started it, I’m the human embodiment of scrambled eggs right now.”

“In general.”

At that Atsumu taps his fingernails on the glossy surface of the ceramic mug. How the fuck is he supposed to continue this conversation? He doesn’t want Sakusa near him, he doesn’t want to resolve anything. He just wants to get a long nap, maybe even make the _kake udon_ he’s been craving for a week.

“What, you don’t know if it disgusts you? If it--”

Sakusa snaps before Atsumu can finish his thought, “Will you give it a rest already?” he brings one leg up until the ball of his foot rests on the edge of the chair. “We’re teammates. It’s a risk.”

“Wow, really?” Atsumu uses the condescending tone he reserves for Osamu.

“If it doesn’t work out we’ll fuck up the entire dynamic of the team. You’re a petty shit and you’ll screw me over as much as you deem necessary to get back at me.”

If it doesn’t…

“Wait, what?”

Sakusa throws his head back while letting out an angry breath that sounds like a locomotive.

“ _‘If this doesn’t work out?’_ ” Atsumu clarifies because he really wants to know if he heard right or if it’s officially nighty-night time for him, regardless of the pesky hypochondriac in his room.

Sakusa doesn’t move for a little while. He slowly lowers his head again, the unruly curls almost entirely covering half of his left eye.

Now it’s Atsumu’s turn to make the cogs in his head work, he knows that, but it’s a tad bit too late for that. If he lies down he’ll be off to la-la-land in a second.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, your concern is not that I’m,” Atsumu closes his eyes, face contorting into an ugly grimace. ”in love with you, but whether the relationship will last while we’re on the same team? Did I like miss an entire hour or somethin’? You despise me.”

Lo and behold, the corner of Sakusa’s mouth tilts upwards a fraction before he uses the same weapon Atsumu had aimed at him a short while ago, “I don’t think I said that, no.”

That little shit.

“Ugh. You know what? I’m going to bed.” he swallows his coffee in three consecutive mouthfuls before taking his sweats off and burying himself under the sheets. With his back to Sakusa.

There’s a foot nudging his back.

“I haven't changed the sheets in three months.”

“Yes you have, they smell clean and fresh.”

“Fuck off, you noob.”

“Miya.” another shove that almost sends Atsumu flying over the edge of the bed. “Atsumu.”

Atsumu’s very glad he isn’t facing Sakusa - his eyes grow wide, a merciless shiver races down all his limbs and the hot knot in his abdomen tightens further.

“I thought you were avoiding me because you’d found out I like you.” he says it like it's not a shocking development.

Atsumu can hear cars passing by outside, then, the clink of a cup being left on the wooden night stand.

“So now I’m trying to see if this is an elaborate fuckery or not. Which one is it, Atsumu?”

_Stop saying my name like that._

“Nuh-uh, pal, I’m not fallin' for that bull.”

Sakusa isn’t as cruel as Atsumu, but people can change. He’d rather be an idiot than get himself hurt.

“Why are you such a child?”

Atsumu doesn’t deem him with an answer.

*****

Sakusa does leave when Atsumu gives him the silent treatment. The next day at practice he doesn’t mention anything, but now that they’re apparently an item, they have roles to play. They mostly do that by standing closer to each other than Sakusa would normally let.

The team doesn’t leave them alone, in fact nobody does. By the end of the day Atsumu is ready to hurl himself out of the window. Now Sakusa calls him Atsumu. And Atsumu has to once again use Omi-kun. Where he’d meticulously sealed that wall now gaped a hole, along with the shattered bricks of his sanity.

He has trouble discerning fake from Sakusa’s real actions and intentions. The bastard sits too close, steps too close, and the entire gym can see it.

Is he taunting him? Is this how he intends to get back at Atsumu? If so, the cruelty is a tad bit too much.

Before he can do anything about it, they have another interview after a game. Atsumu is reluctant in showing his face, the only reason he swallows the discomfort is not only because he has a reputation to upkeep. Suna told him it would get worse if he didn’t face it now.

He still didn’t expect Sakusa to once again manhandle him into a chair. He glares up at him while Sakusa raises his brows and to the untrained eye he’s wearing a cold expression, but to somebody who’s been trying to avoid him and failed miserably due to how hypnotic that shit is, Atsumu clearly discerns the well hidden cheer in those dark eyes.

Atsumu makes a face, barely restrains himself from whacking Sakusa. He would do it if he is as bad of a person as everybody likes to say, but he does have some respect. 

The rest of the hour passes by him in a blur, yet again he can only feel the lingers of Sakusa’s touch.

*****

The next time they have to share a hotel room, three weeks after they ‘become an item’, is torture. Atsumu tries to abstract himself from the situation by pulling an ignore mode after they've showered. That works up until the moment Sakusa looms over his bed, despite seeing him watch videos on Youtube with his headphones in.

Sakusa has his hands in his pockets, a peculiar _something_ in his gaze. He seems more relaxed than he’s ever been when they’ve had to share a room in the past.

“You’re too cheerful. Especially when we’re in a hotel room.” Atsumu starts, takes off his headphones. “Well, as cheerful as _you_ can be.”

“I go to therapy.”

Atsumu lets out a cackle, rubs his mouth before glancing up and--

Oh.

The glower can make even the bravest man cower.

“You… it wasn’t a joke, was it?”

Sakusa just shakes his head for a no. He doesn’t elaborate. Nor does he add anything to his statement.

Atsumu places his phone on his chest, twists his head to look up better. “What d’ya want?”

“To find out if you’re serious about what you said.”

Atsumu raises his index finger at him, “Hell no. We ain’t doin' this. I don’t wanna fuck up somethin' that makes me happy, okay? I like my position on this team.”

Sakusa’s frown gets deeper if anything, a clear lack of understanding behind Atsumu’s reasoning.

“If you don’t fuck off I’m gonna touch you.” Atsumu wiggles his fingers. Sakusa takes an automatic step back, a long ingrained habit.

But then he gets close again and-- and fucking _sits_ on the edge of his bed; Atsumu loses all the bravado.

“What. Are you doing.” he makes to sit up; a large hand in the middle of his chest topples him down on his back once more. His phone falls down to the carpet, along with his headphones.

As a strangled breath leaves him, the familiar spike of heat forms in his belly. Sakusa’s mouth opens as if he’s about to say something, but nothing comes out. His lids lower, he pushes the heel of his palm further when he uses it as leverage to inch closer and folds his left leg until he can bring it on the bed.

This isn’t real. Sakusa would be hissing, disgusted at the thought of touching sheets that he has no idea who’s been in contact with or when they’ve been washed, in what temperature and whatnot. He’d be abhorred at the thought of touching Atsumu’s shirt with the tip of his finger -- ‘You’ve probably slept in that things for two weeks.’ -- much less his entire palm.

Yet here we are.

Sakusa’s concentration is on Atsumu’s eyes as he spreads his fingers wide, starts sliding his hand down, the motion unhurried. There’s no possibility he doesn’t feel the shiver that courses through Atsumu. 

“You like it when I do this.” another press. This time, however, Atsumu feels the edges of nails dig over the material of his shirt. “Your pupils keep dilating. Every time I'd make you sit down during an interview - they’d dilate.”

Atsumu swallows. He’s so busted. Actually, has been busted since the beginning.

Still, he loops his index finger and thumb around Sakusa’s wrist, careful to do it over his long sleeved sweatshirt. “I’m not playing this game, Sakusa.”

Sakusa leans in, their noses almost make contact.

“It’s not a game. It’s what you don’t have the balls to start.”

There are multiple comebacks Atsumu wants to throw in his face, so many logical reasons to decapitate this thing between them, such a vast armory of fuck ups this could lead to and yet he can’t resist. It’s all wiped from his mind, like he’s cleaned a fogged up mirror.

Sakusa must see his resolve shatter. “I have latex gloves.” he supplies, gives Atsumu ample of time to put the meaning to the words.

_I can touch you. If you want me to._

“Yes.” is all he can get out, choked up on the possibilities that swim behind his eyes.

Sakusa wastes no time and gets up to walk to his bag, glances at Atsumu before he takes out a small bottle of lube and two condoms. He places them on the nightstand before taking the sweatshirt off, carefully throws it on his own bed, leaving himself in only a T-shirt. He resumes his previous position while pulling on the black latex gloves.

His hand hovers over Atsumu’s shirt, fingers shifting as if he’s playing a piano, but all this time he’s observing Atsumu. Of course he’s getting a power kick from it. Though, Atsumu isn't below admitting he likes losing his control sometimes, when it threatens to topple him over.

It’s nice to just feel, give in, let the water of desire wash over him as the dam has finally shattered after so many months of restriction.

Atsumu bows his spine enough for his shirt to get into contact with the latex. Sakusa slowly ticks his head to the side, sits back with his hands clasped together in his lap. Atsumu’s confusion gets an answer when Sakusa tilts his chin towards the cotton shirt, then to the side.

Atsumu quickly rises a little, to pull the material over his head, throws it towards the foot of the bed and lies back down.

The first touch is feather light, shifts just as swiftly, unpredictable. Then a rough slide over his abs, back up to his pectorals but never near his nipples. He keeps playing with him, denies him any type of relief or even the slightest of breaks, only moves to another part of his torso.

In a few minutes Atsumu can feel himself start leaking, gasping, with his breaths moments away from turning into whines or moans that he smothers in his throat. Be it because he hasn’t been with anybody in a long time or simply because he’s been craving this for what feels like an eternity, his body reacts faster than he could have anticipated.

Sakusa's fingers don't stop once, continue on getting progressively rough and demanding to the point where Atsumu _can't_ keep the noises in.

A not even remotely gentle touch of one nipple, the pad of the thumb just keeps on alternating pushing it upwards and downwards. It's now perked, overly sore and sensitive. Sakusa doesn't move away, yet doesn't place his hand on him elsewhere. Only his nipple.

Atsumu's thighs crush together with a mewl, head thrown back against the pillow, hands pulling fistfuls of the sheets. It shouldn't feel this good from being teased but the lack of lubricant and the borderline painful tug at his dry skin amplifies the sensation in his nerve receptors.

Then it stops.

He tries to give a protest, however it comes out as more of a moan than coherent words.

Sakusa migrates to the inner side of the bed, splays Atsumu's legs open to place himself between them. To press their groins together.

Nothing more. No grinding or thrusting, no further stimulation.

“One thing. Don’t touch me.”

Atsumu stares up at him while he's getting the direly needed oxygen in his blood. He catches the meaning a smidge late and slowly clasps his shaky arms under his lower back, each palm squeezing the opposite wrist.

That leaves his spine arched but with a security that he won't break what is likely the most important rule.

"I don't know if I'll be able to control my legs." he reluctantly gives.

His soles are on the bed, thighs trembling in a mildly visible tremor. He knows he likes pulling his lovers with them whenever he feels like getting fucked. His body might forgo the ultimatum in the heat of the moment.

Sakusa nods, drags his hands down his legs, starting from his knees and keeps getting lower as he speaks. "As long as it's over the shirt and sweats it's fine." he pauses at the inner crease of Atsumu’s thighs.

He seems to be in a trance ever since Atsumu placed his arms behind his back and made himself look even filthier, splayed open and vulnerable, only for Sakusa to see.

"I might pull with 'em, though. Tend to do that a lot."

It's like he's under a truth spell, the darkness of Sakusa's eyes pulling him into the abyss of desire.

Sakusa doesn't answer this time, squeezes Atsumu's thighs around his clothed middle and falls on his hands to look down at him. Theirs chests don't even brush, noses a scant hair away.

"Have you brushed your teeth?"

Atsumu nods with a swallow. He'd been planning on fucking around on his phone for an hour before calling it a night, knowing he'd be too lazy to get up to brush them later.

Before the kiss Sakusa tilts his head to lick at Atsumu's lips, slips the tip of his tongue in for a millisecond, then finally slots their mouths together. The pressure makes Atsumu's head dig further into the pillow as the agile tongue slips between his lips to lick a broad swipe against his palate, brush against his own tongue and tangle them together.

A sharp, unexpected thrust against his hips, only once, has him release an embarrassing sound. His thighs automatically tighten their hold, hard enough that Sakusa groans.

He doesn't cease the kiss, adds more tongue and teeth, with sparse grinding against Atsumu. Like the flick of a switch he'd changed into a hungry panther that wants to devour Atsumu piece by piece and have his way with him.

Had he been wanting as long as Astumu? Had he been plagued by a never ending stream of lewd dreams that leave him unsatisfied and panting upon waking? Or did he jack off to the thought of Atsumu on his knees for him, of Atsumu bent over a desk, of Atsumu tied up in rope, intricate patterns leaving traces on his skin, begging him for release? Maybe he even wanted Atsumu to fuck him into Sunday, on the bathroom tiles, three times in a row until they both know he won't be able to stand on his two feet.

Sakusa pulls back to look at him, his curls ticking a part of Atsumu's forehead with him bent over like that.

"Head back."

Atsumu bares his throat to the best of his power, until his vision is only occupied by the dark wood of the headboard.

First is a slow stripe from his clavicle to the edge of his jaw, a hard bite there, smoothed down with a kiss. Sakusa does the same thing with the other side, then the middle. He nips at his Adam's apple, dips his tongue in the hollow between his collarbones, continues to suck and lick at his neck like Atsumu is some delicacy.

His breathing is yet again on the verge of hyperventilation by the sheer precision that Sakusa plays with him. He's found a spot, at the base of his throat that makes tears prickle at Atsumu's eyes with the amount of pleasure and shivers he's overloaded with when Sakusa keeps on sucking at it for a prolonged period of time.

So this bastad loves discovering a weak spot, uses it to his heart's content, then seeks out another one, drives Atsumu's mind into a rollercoaster of _please,more,harder_ without letting him have his release. It’s climbing to the top only to be kicked off it in the middle of the escalation.

Sakusa sits down on his knees, pulls Atsumu by the hips and tugs Atsumu’s head down by his chin. “Are you allergic to latex?”

“No.”

Sakusa’s thumb traces over puffy lips, bitten to a carmine red. “Good.”

It gently nudges both his bottom and upper lip simultaneously, slides down to be replaced by an index finger that repeats the same process.

“So many times I’ve wanted to shut you up with my fingers.”

Atsumu opens his mouth, only a bit, an invitation if Sakusa wants to follow up to his words. It takes a few more seconds but the finger slips in, glides down the tongue that greedily pushes against it, until it’s all the way in. Atsumu closes his lips around it, feels the texture of the latex against the inner side of his cheeks when he sucks. It’s slippery, with a weird taste that confirms just how much of a freak he is, because he likes it.

Sakusa swallows, the click of his throat audible to Atsumu despite the rush of blood in his ears.

Then Atsumu opens his mouth, slides his tongue out. Immediately Sakusa shoves his middle finger alongside the other, digs the tips into the sleek muscle. Atsumu’s hips involuntarily twitch upwards, which presses their cocks together, and his eyes roll back into his skull.

He can come, just from this. Sakusa isn’t even touching his dick, hasn’t put fingers inside of him, but Atsumu can come from them fucking his mouth.

As Sakusa slides his fingers in and out of between his lips, his palm, so scorching that Atsumu can feel the swelter of it despite the latex, glides down his hip to the inside of his clothed thigh. He pulls at the sweats, and--

The heel of his hand presses abruptly against his aching cock, no preamble or niceties, pressure strong enough to make him emit a sound between a whimper and a moan.

What the fuck is wrong with him? Is he really this desperate to get fucked that every cell in his body is ignited? Or, the thing that scares him the most, does Sakusa have _that_ much influence over him?

He’d wondered for years how Osamu can always react so strongly towards Suna, when the fuckers go overboard with PDA just to screw with Atsumu and get carried away in their own world along the way. Now, with his body a taut string that is going to snap any moment only due to mere teasing, he thinks he gets the pull.

Of having your entire being yanked into somebody’s orbit until you crash into multiple pieces upon impact but it’s as if sheer magic stitches you back together. And it happens over and over again. And you don’t even mind it, you yearn for it.

Sakusa pulls his fingers out of his mouth with a loud popping noise.

“Sakusa,” is the only thing Atsumu can pant out. He grips his own wrists tighter, fights the urge to reach up to him.

Sakusa jerks the waistband of his sweats down, Atsumu readily lifts his hips to help the process, but Sakusa stops when they’re at the crease of his ass. Just enough for his cock and balls to be on full display.

“Say my name.”

“Sa--”

“No.”

Sakusa’s stare is as intense as during a match, peels any remnants of Atsumu’s defence layers until he’s exposed entirely.

“Kiyoomi.” he breathes out, as if a pressure has been lifted off him.

Sakusa lets out a stuttering breath, goosebumps erupt along his bare neck and arms. He takes the condom, deposits it on Atsumu’s chest, then rests his hands on the outer side of his jittering legs. Atsumu extracts his arms from under his lower back, opens the package, throws it on the nightstand and puts the condom on himself, followed by two strokes that were going to the three had Sakusa not taken a hold of his wrist to stop him.

They keep eye contact while Atsumu once again moves his arms under his lower back despite the slight numbness from having to lie on them.

Sakusa puts the second condom on himself, uncaps the bottle of lube and when he pours some of the contents on Atsumu, Atsumu’s cock twitches upwards in his direction. The room is filled with the scent of peaches.

“Fair warning,” Atsumu mutters, despite his tongue being too tied up. “I’m not gonna last much longer.”

“Hmm.” Sakusa waits for him to finish before he grips him and strokes him once.

“ _Ah!_ ” Atsumu’s thighs clench around Sakusa’s hips once more in a spasm. “Not fair.”

He clasps his middle finger and thumb around the base tightly, teasing at the head with his other thumb. “Say my name, Atsumu.”

“Kiyoo-- _ahn_ \--mi.” Atsumu can’t stop squirming. Sakusa rubs circles into the frenulum, clockwise, each touch precise with the exact same pressure. A steady torture. “Please. I just-- please just-- ah, fuck, _mmmm_.”

He hadn’t even noticed his hips had started moving without his permission until Sakusa bumps them with his own.

“A little more. And I’ll make you come.”

Sakusa might be able to hold a stable poker face but this isn’t the case here. His facial muscles are just lax, eyes glazed with the pupils having swallowed the dark iris, with a tint of pink to his cheeks and neck. He’s just as affected as Atsumu is.

Atsumu swallows and whispers, “Kiyoomi.”

The reaction is instant - another wave of goosebumps, Sakusa’s mouth drops open in a sigh, his lids lower, hips tipping forward.

“Touch yerself, Omi.”

What he does _not_ expect in the slightest is for Sakusa to tilt his head back with his lips pressed firmly together, his grip on Atsumu’s cock further tightening.

Bingo.

So he does like the nickname after all. More than Atsumu could have anticipated. The most satisfying thing despite all of the revelations is that Sakusa does touch himself, thus freeing the pressure that he kept around Atsumu’s base.

More than that, he pushes against him, to take them in one hand. The other he slides up Atsumu’s belly, swirls his thumb over one nipple, then the other, succeeds in making Atsumu a rambling and whimpering wreck in less than twenty seconds. The edge of the waistband of his sweats digs into Atsumu’s balls to further the pleasure.

Atsumu thrusts his hips in time with the strokes and had Sakusa been inside of him he would have been fucking himself on his dick with a force like that. When he shares his thought process Sakusa actually lets out a prolonged moan that, Atsumu swears, makes him leak into the condom when it reverberates against him.

Sakusa lowers himself over Atsumu again, on one arm, to shove his tongue in his mouth as they finally, fucking finally, climb the top, together. The kiss doesn’t last long, they can barely breathe as it is.

“Omi, Omi, I’m-- I don’t think I’m gonna--ah, oh fuck, oh fuck, _Omi_ \--” he ends it with a high whimper that just tears out of his throat.

Sakusa shifts his weight on his elbow, and now they’re merged together and it feels _so fucking good_. He’s finally-- that feeling, the one that melted him in his dreams, it reduplicates under his ribs, makes him slide further into the inferno.

When he opens his eyes, Sakusa is already watching him, with a look that might hold a tiny bit of tenderness, that might even be something softer and more fragile than that, but just knowing at least a part of Atsumu's pleasure is felt by Sakusa as well makes the rope tear like a whip.

" _Omi--_ " he reaches his high while holding eyes with Sakusa, feels his own widen with the upcoming wave they both know is going to topple him.

Sakusa's free hand reaches as best as it can while his entire arm holds his weight at an awkward angle, wipes the tear that slides out of Atsumu's eye just as more start flowing out. He's never cried during an orgasm, but the sensation is too strong for his body to handle. The pleasure is like a static shock that keeps on passing through his body, fires his brain and destroys all thoughts like lightning.

The whimpers and moans double, and he would think it's embarrassing had he not seen Sakusa's reaction, had he not witnessed Sakusa's own orgasm take him down while he'd observed Atsumu's.

Oh fuck, too much, too much, it's all--

He loses a little time, a graze of fear in the back of his mind.

What the fuck?

"Atsumu?"

Oh. He needs to open his eyes. That's why it's dark.

Sakusa is sitting next to him, having tucked himself back into his sweats, probably with the condom on. He'd given Atsumu the same courtesy.

The latex of the glove glides easily against his sweaty cheek. He's a wreck. So overstimulation with an inability to touch or be in control equals literally mind-blowing orgasms, huh? He's been living under a rock.

Surprisingly, Sakusa emits a barely audible snort. He's soft around the edges - Atsumu has never even caught a glimpse of him like this.

"You're not even aware you're talking, are you?" even his voice carries a different note to it. It's not lovely-dovely, it's still good 'ol Sakusa and his grumpiness, but. But in a good way.

Atsumu tries to twist on his side, only for a sharp pain to stab him in both shoulders. His teeth bare in a hiss. He's still lying on his own fucking arms.

Sakusa maneuvers them out from under him with a frown, as if he too had forgotten about that little detail. He rubs at one shoulder, gets on his knees to lean over him and do the same to the other shoulder, makes him move his arms in specific directions until the pain becomes miniscule enough for Atsumu to ignore.

"Why didn't you say it was uncomfortable?" Sakusa murmurs, still on the journey of rubbing his arms further awake.

Atsumu had been gripping his own wrists so hard that his fingernails had left half-moon indents in the skin. Yikes.

"Didn't feel like it hurt that much."

"You're not doing this next time."

Atsumu doesn't even try to hide his sudden inhale. "Next time?"

Sakusa catches his eye, a once in a lifetime, albeit tiny smile makes the corners of his mouth tilt upwards, "I think I said that, yeah."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! ♥️
> 
> Here's my [Twitter](https://mobile.twitter.com/inarizakistan) if anybody wants to chat!


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